


To Be Everything At Once

by noheroesallowed



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Jack stills plays hockey, M/M, mainly fluff with a side of angst, mention of homophobic behaviour, mention of injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 14:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13125657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noheroesallowed/pseuds/noheroesallowed
Summary: “That’s it. How do you tell someone to get lost with flowers?”Lardo grinned widely, setting the flower arrangement she was working on aside. “You wanna say fuck you in flower, Bits?”“Yes,” Eric huffed. “I do.”(also known as "several scenes set in a bakery AU")





	To Be Everything At Once

**Author's Note:**

  * For [belislythindor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/belislythindor/gifts).



> Based on [ this](http://pieandpucks.tumblr.com/post/150285412330) prompt, but it formed a life of its own and turned into this. The title was taken from the song No Parallels by Hands Like Houses. In case you're interested, I've made a small playlist that can be found [ here](https://open.spotify.com/user/iwasyoursea/playlist/61fIi1gnyWV1Q7m88qCHlT), but it isn't important to the story. I just think playlists are really nice! 
> 
> Small warning, there is a mention of Bitty's night spent in a utility closet, starting right after "...his eyes stinging with tears he was holding back." The part written in italics right after that is all you'd have to skip if it makes you uncomfortable. 
> 
> On a final note, this was beta'd by my lovely friend [ Flora,](https://lostmyshoeagain.tumblr.com/) and you can always find me on [ tumblr](https://paintmyspiritgold.tumblr.com/) to shout about check please

**Part I** // **October**

 

When Eric left Madison, Georgia behind him five years ago he never expected to end up in Providence, of all places. Nor did he expect to own a bakery at age 25, have a great group of friends and solid, stable life. And yet here he was. 6:30 AM on a gloomy Tuesday morning, waiting for Chowder to come in for the morning shift.  
To be completely honest, the nicknames of his friends threw him off at first. Honestly, it’s not every day that you interview a bunch of people and a very happy, widely smiling kid sticks out his hand and introduces himself as _“Hi, I’m Chowder—I mean Chris! Chris, that’s my name! My name is Chris.”  
_ (if it wasn’t for the fact that Eric was already sold on the kid purely because of the charisma that seemed to seep out of every pore, he would’ve hired him for that mishap alone.) When the woman that ran the flower shop next door introduced herself as _Lardo_ after greeting Chowder by pulling him in for a hug, Eric got more and more confused. Ransom and Holster followed soon after, working at a nearby office and regularly swinging by for lunch.

He hadn’t even met Shitty by this point. He just… Gave up after that. Not very long after that his own nickname followed.

_“Man, you really chose a mouthful as a name for the bakery, Eric,” Shitty complained, trying very hard not to spray crumbs of the mini pie he was eating all over the place. “I mean, it’s cute? But a mouthful, my dude.”_  
_Eric frowned at the logo on his menu card. “What’s wrong with Itty Bitty Bites? It’s accurate! I sell a lot of those mini pies, mister.”_  
_“That’s fair enough? But he’s got a point,” Holster chimed in. “When people at the office ask about your cookies and muffins, Rans and I just say Bitty’s.”_  
_“Hah, Bitty.” Shitty snorted. “Get it? Cause you’re short. You’re the actual embodiment of Itty Bitty.”_  
_“I am of average height, Mr. Knight!” he protested. “It’s not my fault y’all decided to gather as a group and tower over me.”_  
_“Keep telling yourself that, Bitty.”_

“I’m here! I’m here!” Chowder cried, slamming the door open and throwing his backpack over the counter, nearly mowing the tip jar down. “My alarm didn’t go off! And then I had to come here, but Caitlyn took my bike out last night because it was pretty late when she went home and all, and she asked, but I totally forgot so I had to walk, but it’s a long walk? Well, it’s not that long actually, but it is like, so cold?!” he rambled, tying an apron around his waist. “So yeah, I walked here, but then someone slipped on a frozen puddle and I helped get them up so it took me a little longer, and I’m _really_ sorry about it!”  
“Breathe, Chowder. We’ve just opened, it’s okay,” Eric laughed.  
Chowder frowned. “But where’s Jack? He’s usually here around this time, right?”  
As if he was waiting for his cue, they spotted Jack, struggling to pull the heavy door open. His right arm was wrapped in a sling, pressed snugly against his chest.  
“ _Calm down. It’s just Jack,”_ he told himself as he ran towards the door, his heart skipping a beat as he pulled it open to let Jack in.  
“Thanks, Bittle.”  
“You’re gonna injure your other arm too if you’re not careful,” Eric chirped, making his way back to the counter where Chowder poured Jack a generous cup of black coffee. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you need at least one arm to play hockey.”  
“Bitty,” Chowder whispered. “You know you need two arms, right?!”  
“Chowder, honey, I know. I was just teasing poor ol’ Mr. Zimmermann.” He smiled widely at Jack, placing a dozen or so muffins on their stand.

 

Jack smiled softly at Eric, watching him as he busied himself behind the counter, placing different muffins, scones and other pastries on their respective stands just in time for the morning rush. Somewhere in the back of him mind he felt the dull ache spreading its way through his arm, but that seemed a distant thing as he watched Bittle scuffle around.  
There were many things Jack envied about Bittle, and the fact that he seemed so at ease all the time was one of them. Whenever Jack wasn’t on the ice he felt awkward and stiff, not quite comfortable in his own skin. The injury only enhanced this: the multiple fractures in his humerus and clavicle left him with a bunch of plates and screws in his bones, a lot of frustration and a vague sense of feeling lost. He wasn’t allowed on the ice for another two weeks, leaving him to his physical therapy appointments and trying to help Lardo around the flower shop.  
“Jack?” Chowder pulled him out of his thoughts, placing a steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of him. “I was asking you wanted something else? Bitty just told me that we have new protein bars, if you wanna try one of those.”  
Jack shook his head. “I’m good, Chowder.”  
Behind him the door opened, the first costumer of the morning walking in. The young woman slid her phone into her pocket as she approached the counter, where she was greeted by Eric with a wide smile. Jack watched the exchange, a warm feeling spreading through his chest.  
This had been happening more and more. He felt different when he was around Bittle, but it wasn’t an unwelcome feeling. He didn’t feel so much like the hockey robot the media made him out to be. It felt closer to the way he felt around Shitty: free to just _be._ Around his friends he wasn’t Jack Zimmermann, hockey prodigy and son of Bad Bob. He was Jack Zimmermann, the guy who took his coffee black and didn’t actually enjoy getting up early, but does so anyway to go for a run. He was Jack, the guy that enjoyed taking candid pictures of his friends and that dressed up as a cat for his first adult Halloween.

It was also around these people that Jack learned that he wasn’t bad at communicating.

  
He had always thought that he wasn’t good at telling people how he felt: he struggled with finding the correct words to make himself clear.  It took years of therapy for him to realise that he wasn’t bad at communicating. He just used a different method, compared to most people. After this was pointed out he realised that he did a lot of unconscious touching. There was always a knee touching another knee, or a hand squeezing a shoulder gently to let them know _I hear you. I’m listening._

 He was met by a whole new level of tactile when he first got to know Shitty, though. 

_“What the--- SHITS, GO TO YOUR OWN BED!” Jack exclaimed, hitting his head against the wall as he scrambled back to get away from Shitty, who was laid on his side next to Jack, grinning sleepily._  
_“Nah brah, your bed is so much more comfortable than mine. Also, it’s fuckin’ FREEZING outside and you’re like… a toaster oven. But a_ **soft** toaster oven. It’s amazing.”  
_“… What?” Jack frowned. “What does that even mean, Shitty.”_  
_“I dunno man, but it feels right.”_  
_A comfortable silence fell between the two, only interrupted by the rustling of sheets as Shitty wrapped himself up in a three layer blanket burrito._  
_“Just tell me that you’re wearing underwear?” Jack sighed after a couple of minutes. “You can stay, but I will kick you out of you’re not wearing underwear.” He was met by a frown as Shitty freed himself out of his blanket burrito, peering down to check._  
_"We’re good. Wonder Woman represent.” He slapped the elastic waistband as a way of proof. “Can we go to sleep, though? I have class in the morning.”  
_ _"Sure, Shits. Sleep in your own bed tomorrow, though. Please."_

Despite being surrounded so many tactile people, Jack somehow still struggled to express himself towards Bittle. Sure, they went through the six-month period where Eric apparently thought that Jack hated his guts, and they were a hell of a lot better now, but it bothered him that he still felt so removed from Eric.  
Especially since all Jack wanted was to pull Bittle closer to him. He wanted the vague smell of vanilla and coffee closer to him so he could lose himself in it. He wanted to trace the freckles on his back that looked like a constellation, he wanted to nuzzle his nose in Eric’s hair, he wanted come home from roadies in the early morning and see the sunlight across his back as he slept in _their_ bed – Jack wanted all of it. He wanted it all, and he knew that that would never be the case. Eric Bittle deserved so much better than Jack, and it absolutely broke his heart.

 

**Part II** // **December**

Ever since Eric moved up north, he grew fonder of the month with each passing year. It came with snow (something he absolutely loathed at first, but now appreciated), fairy lights in the trees on the streets, incredibly cheesy songs and maybe best of all, ridiculously elaborate hot chocolate.  
December wasn’t all fairy lights and hot chocolate, though. December also meant Christmas, which in the service and retail industry closely resembled hell. Where they normally had a slump in the afternoon where it was very quiet and calm in the bakery, it was now extremely busy. They had no empty tables and a severe lack of hands to serve all the people.

 What absolutely didn’t help was the woman in her mid-forties, currently shouting at Eric.

“I honestly do _not_ understand how you feel comfortable calling yourself a baker! That pie was absolutely horrible! You cannot ask a price that steep if you will be selling me a pie that tastes that bad! No, you cannot ask ANY price at all if you’re selling me that absolute piece of garbage!” she shouted, fuming with rage. “Your bakery is a disgrace, young man. Your mother should be ashamed of you. I demand a refund.”  
The words stung. Eric bit the inside of his cheek and took a deep breath, forcing the tears that were building in his eyes away. “Ma’am—”  
“DON’T YOU MA’AM ME!”  
“I’m truly sorry—I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name,” he replied, trying his hardest not to let his emotions show as he smiled at the woman in front of him.  
“Margaret,” she huffed.  
“Well Margaret, let me please refund your pie, or at least bake you a new one.” He smiled, noticing Jack who had just walked in and looked at the woman with a frown.  
She pursed her lips at Eric. “Well, I suppose we could let it go for once. The holidays are near, after all.” She smiled at Eric. “I will leave my contact info with your co-worker over there. So you can go back to practising baking. Maybe you should consider hiring another baker in the meantime!” she laughed as if she just made the best joke she’s heard in weeks.  
“Oh, bless your heart!” Eric swatted a hand towards her, smiling widely. “I’ll try my best! Chowder, honey, can you please refund Margaret and write her details down for me, please?” He didn’t wait for a reply as he hurried off into the back, slamming the door behind him. He let himself drop on the floor, burying his head in hands as he let out a shaky breath, his eyes stinging with tears he was holding back.

_“Your dad should be ashamed of you. I bet he fucking **is** ashamed of you, you pussy. You can’t even push me away, weak little bitch,” Brad sneered, his fist gripping Eric’s shirt tightly. “Maybe we should lock you up for the night, see if that makes a man out of you.”_   
_Eric protested, trying to scramble away from Brad’s grip. Behind him was the rest of the football team, staring Eric down._   
_“Please don’t,” he whispered._   
_Brad grinned widely, opening the utility closet and pushing Eric in. “See ya, Bittle.”_

He shuddered at the memory and tried to push the thought of it back.  
It’ll be fine. December was almost over, and things would return back to normal in January. His regulars were absolute sweethearts, he had great employees and this was just a fluke. Just one costumer. And it wasn’t like she was going to push him into the pantry, either.  
“Bittle?”  
Eric looked up to see Jack hovering in front of him, looking at him with a worried frown.  
“Hi! Jack, sorry about that!” he scrambled up, pawing at his face to wipe away any tears that may have fallen down. “Can I get you anything? I can whip up a couple of those mini pecan maple pies?” He turned around and wiped his hands on his apron, scanning the counter for pecans when he felt Jack’s hand on his shoulder.  
“Bittle, breathe.”  
Eric leaned against the counter and dropped his head down, squeezing the countertop in an attempt to get his hands to stop shaking. “It’s fine. It happens. People are stressed, they say things they don’t mean—”  
“ _Bittle_.” It came out sterner than it did before, making Eric straighten his back on instinct. Last time he heard Jack use that tone was when he went to a Falconers game and he overhead him using his captain voice. “That woman is _wrong_.”  
Eric smiled through his watery eyes and sniffed. “Thanks, Jack. I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to see me like this. I should head back anyway, Chowder shouldn’t have to--” He was interrupted by two strong arms wrapping around him, tucking him snugly against Jack’s chest. “Dex just came in, they’ll be fine. And please don’t apologise, Bittle,” Jack said quietly. His voice vibrated through his chest, making Eric’s heart squeeze tightly and his eyes water more. “You’re a great baker. And a great friend.”

_Friend._ The word stung. He knew it shouldn’t and yet, somehow, he found himself crying into Jack’s shirt.

 He wanted this so badly. He wanted morning cuddles, he wanted to pull Jack’s hair as they kissed. He wanted to come home at night and find Jack on the couch, fast asleep with a thick book balanced on his chest. But Jack was a hockey player. Eric was pretty sure he was also a straight hockey player, and there was no use in wanting something you can’t have.

  
After a few minutes the tears stopped falling.  
“Thanks,” he mumbled. “You didn’t have to do that, y’know.”  
Jack smiled. “Anytime. But uh, I was wondering… How do you feel about dinner?”  
“It’s necessary?” Eric frowned.  
“I mean do you have any plans for dinner tonight?” A light blush made its way onto Jack’s cheeks, making him look five years younger.  
“I—No? I was going to make pasta and call it a night.”  
“Do you want to go out for dinner? My treat? If you’re not feeling up to it, I totally understand, but I figured it might be a nice distraction,” Jack mumbled, scratching the back of his neck, turning more and more red by the second.  
“I’d love to.”

 

**Part III** // **April**

 

Eric walked into Flo’real, the flower shop next to his bakery, and slammed his wallet down on the counter. “That’s it. How do you tell someone to get lost with flowers?”  
Lardo grinned widely, setting the flower arrangement she was working on aside. “You wanna say fuck you in flower, Bits?”  
“Yes,” Eric huffed. “I do.”  
“I mean you can always go with a cactus, y’know? Like, you’re a real fuckin’ prick dude,” Nursey chimed in from the back, leaning back on his chair and grinning lazily as he chewed his gum. “Especially if it’s dick shaped cactus.”  
Lardo hurled a magazine at him, hitting the wall behind him. “This is _EXACTLY_ why you’re not allowed to--”  
She was interrupted by what sounded like a wildebeest stampede barrelling down the stairs leading to the apartment above the shop. A mere second after that the door flew open, slamming against a shelf, making the plants shake in theirs pots. Shitty stood in the small hallway, wearing nothing more than faded Star Wars boxers and what seemed to be a pink, fluffy bathrobe about three sizes too small.  
“My moment has arrived,” he said, his eyes wide as if he just saw a prophesy come true. “If anyone one of us can say fuck you with flowers, it’s me,” he declared, closing the door behind him. “Three _FUCKIN’_ years of dealing with those inconsiderate life-draining corporate assholes for that internship, I fucking know my shit, Bits. Let me do this for you.” He gently squeezed Eric’s shoulder and sashayed across the floor, the robe flapping dramatically behind him. “Tell me, what kind of absolute monster deserves these flowers?”  
Eric huffed, opening and closing his fists by his side. “Margaret. First time she told me that my apple pie tastes horrible and that I should hire a new baker, but now my cookies were stale, bless her heart.”  
Shitty stopped in his tracks. “She did what now.”

Jack had just walked into the store and looked at the scene, a small smile playing on his lips. Bittle and Lardo were both stood at the counter, looking at Shitty, who was in the middle of the store in a pink bathrobe, holding a selection of flowers. It almost resembled a renaissance painting in its complete chaos.   
“Jack Laurent Zimmermann, fire in my loins, light of my life,” Shitty declared, turning around on his heels. “Since you just walked in, let me catch you up on the situation at hand. We have to fuck up some woman named Margaret. But, since you have a public image to think about and I still technically am your lawyer who just so happens to also live in a building you own, we have to be subtle. Ish.”  
“Oh?”  
“It’s Margaret,” Eric explained. “Pardon my French, but I want that woman to choke on her dinner.”  
Jack snorted. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

Several months had passed since he found Bittle on the floor in the back of the bakery, and thankfully he had been doing a lot better. It scared Jack when he saw Bittle on the floor with his knees pulled to his chest and it absolutely broke his heart when he saw a mask fall in place that he knew all too well. 

So he did what he does best. He acted on instinct and pulled Bittle close and held him. No words, just actions. The dinner they had later that night was filled with light-hearted chirping and talking about fun childhood stories. Everything to forget the sour taste of that afternoon. More dinners like that followed, and it brought him here. Several months later, and with a crush so big that he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep it to himself.  
“I still can’t believe you got a hattrick during that last game,” Eric said, pulling him out of his thoughts. The store was empty apart from the two of them, the rest all seemed to have retreated to the back. “It was insane, Mr Zimmermann! Give a boy a warning next time, will you?!” he hip-checked Jack playfully.  
“Do you want to go on a date with me?” Jack blurted out. 

Eric blinked, taken aback by Jack’s sudden question. His heart felt like it was going to burst out his chest. A moment of silence passed, before he managed to squeal out “Yeah. I’d love to.”

 

**Part IV** // **September**

 

After looking on his phone and finding out that it was only 7:30 AM, Jack carefully went back to bed, positioning himself so that he could look at his boyfriend, who was still fast asleep. The sun was peeking through the curtains that never closed all the way, illuminating the mop of blond hair that was sticking out of the sheets.  
“Stop staring at me,” Eric mumbled, opening one eye to peek at Jack. “‘s so early, go back to sleep.”  
Jack obliged, pulling Eric close to his chest and pressing a gentle kiss on the top of his head. He felt himself slip back to sleep, a feeling of pure content washing over him. 

In this moment it didn’t matter how many goals he scored over the past season, or that they got kicked out in the second round of the play offs. It also didn’t matter that his breath was probably rank right now, or that his shirt was so worn that it had dozens of holes in it.

In this moment, Jack was free to just _be_ , and that was enough.


End file.
